


Peace, Love and Q

by DoreyG



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alien Culture, Angry Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Episode Related, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Other, True Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-07-26 00:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7553530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't <i>understand</i> you, Q!"</p><p>"I assure you, Mon Capitaine," Q says somewhat sourly, stretching out on the ready room couch like he's settling onto a throne, "the feeling is <i>entirely</i> mutual."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace, Love and Q

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jamesusmayus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesusmayus/gifts).



"I don't _understand_ you, Q!"

"I assure you, Mon Capitaine," Q says somewhat sourly, stretching out on the ready room couch like he's settling onto a throne, "the feeling is _entirely_ mutual."

"How can you be so arrogant?" He snarls, unable to stop his pacing before the man. A strategical disadvantage, yes, but the _only_ thing stopping him from resorting to angry action as opposed to mere angry words, "so merciless? So _convinced_ of your moral superiority?"

"It's a mystery of the universe," Q drawls, and actually _glares_ at him for a few seconds. His own temper showing through, just the slightest glimmer, "in much the same way that it's a mystery why you humans are so stubborn, so overconfident, so obsessed with doing the 'right' thing within your amusing little constructs of morality. Tell me, Picard, is it pleasant to be so delusional? So sensitive to the meaningless?"

"More pleasant than it must be to be so detached, so utterly incapable of understanding the very meaning of the word decency," he retorts, comes to a furious halt right in front of Q and his ever so arrogant face, "this is a human _life_ that we've talking about, Q."

"This is a Q life that we're talking about, Picard," Q counters, rising from his casual lounge into a far more alert position - somewhat like a panther, about to lunge, "and considering that, I would say that I _am_ being as decent as it is possible for me to be. The dictionary definition of decency-"

" _Q_."

"Is 'behaviour that conforms to accepted standards of morality or respectability'," Q talks over him smoothly, only smirks a humourless smirk at his soft noise of frustration in response, "I am conforming perfectly to Q standards of morality. And, if we consider how dangerous Amanda's power could be in the wrong hands, perfectly to certain human standards of morality too. Aren't you supposed to want to protect humanity, Picard?"

"You are taking the letter of the law," he says, through gritted teeth, "and not the-"

"Ensure its survival?" Q only starts looking smug again, leans back a little from his alert position and... Actually inspects his fingernails, like this is just an average walk in the park for him, "make sure that no horrifying things such as mass murder due to uncontrolled cosmic forces happen on your watch?"

"Dammit, Q!" He interrupts this time, so sharply that he's pleased to see Q's attempt at presenting a relaxed front fade away as quickly as dew in the morning sun, "you are taking the _letter_ of the law, and not the spirit of it! Amanda would never deliberately harm anyone, we all know that. And even if there is the tiniest chance that she could, we cannot judge and condemn people on chance alone."

Q stares at him for a long second, eyes narrow. His pose has gone back to that of a patient panther, one just waiting to pounce. He probably considers it at least mildly terrifying, "and yet again, the stupidity of your species is confirmed."

He's not a swearing man, you don't get to command the flagship of the federation if you curse openly every time something riles you, but in that moment he comes the closest he has since his youth, "you don't even try to understand us, Q."

Q stares at him narrow eyed, thankfully too riled up to manage his usual level of smugness, "there is very little to understand."

"Is that what you truly think?" He asks, can't help a scowl as Q only narrows his eyes at him even further and rises slowly - _almost_ threateningly, if he wasn't such a fundamentally ridiculous being - to his feet, "if that is true, Q, I have to wonder why you visit us quite so often."

"Maybe I am becoming just as much of a masochist as you, Picard," Q drawls, tone low and deadly. His eyes have gone dark, another not-quite threat that he feels entirely justified in ignoring, "or maybe I just have more of a scientifically inclined mind than you, and wish to keep exposing myself to that which I don't understand in the vague hope that it'll one day make sense."

"A more scientifically inclined mind," he scoffs, makes sure that Q hears every _bit_ of the scorn dripping from his voice, "a truly scientifically inclined mind would _ask_ , Q!"

"I have asked," Q hisses, starting to sound truly furious. It's probably a bad idea to anger a godlike being, but he can't quite bring himself to care at the moment, "through every avenue open to me, and your species _still_ refuses to make any kind of sense. You are so unwise, so passionate, so dedicated to doing the stupidest thing at every possible opportunity. I do not understand how you still _exist_... And I am starting to think, by this point, that I am not meant to."

"Q," he snaps, simmering anger bubbling up within him and overriding his more logical impulses with ease, "a _truly_ scientifically inclined mind would actually be open to new ideas, and a truly scientific mind would be open to trying again no matter how many failures occurred."

"Well _maybe_ ," Q says quickly, roughly. Temper obviously also getting the better of him, as he raises one hand and presses it in a taunting caress against the side of his face, "this truly scientific mind would rather have a demonstration on the apparent virtues of your species, as opposed to yet another tiresome lecture on blind and stupid faith."

... _Damn_ it.

This is a bad idea, such a bad idea that it probably earns a place amongst the _worst_ ideas that have ever been had, but Q is standing there _touching_ him with such arrogance and the only real thought in his mind is to finally shut the man _up_ for once. His lips are softer than expected, warmer. When he opens his mouth in a gasp of surprise, his tongue is surprisingly meek.

When he draws back Q is blinking, looking a step away from lifting his free hand and caressing the slightly swollen curve of his lips. His other hand remains on his face, digging in just slightly as if he's desperately looking for something to hold onto, "Jean-Luc-"

"You wanted a demonstration," he says, surprised by how rough his voice is, and pushes Q back down onto the couch.

Q goes wide-eyed, but absolutely willingly. Sits there obediently once he's down, and stares up at him with a level of fascination that he's never quite seen before from Q. There's no guile there. Only enthusiastic interest, and a level of eagerness that he didn't think Q quite capable of. He's not quite sure what to do, with that level of unexpected enthusiasm all directed at him.

But he's a captain, _the_ captain of the USS Enterprise. He can work it out.

He settles down on the couch besides Q, not quite a throw but also not quite a considered movement, and manoeuvres the man - surprisingly easily, considering - into a position better for the both of them. Lying lengthwise on the couch, legs bracketing him in a way that strikes even the current laser focus of his brain as _indecent_.

"My," if not quite as indecent as Q's voice, a low purr that seems slightly uncertain but all the more delighted for it, " _my_ , Jean-Luc. What on _earth_ -?"

He has no time for that purring tone, no matter how appealing it may be in this specific situation. He huffs lowly, his only reply, trails his hand up the inside of Q's thigh and cups his fingers around the hardness that already waits in between his legs.

" _Ah_!"

"No use of your powers," he demands, soft and deliberate while he's still sure that he has Q's attention. He massages that bulge through the fabric, less gentle than he'd usually be when taking a partner to bed for the first time, "no making your clothes disappear, no taking us to a more comfortable location, _nothing_. I want you to appreciate this as a human would."

Q, already writhing under his touch, narrowly manages to raise his head. Gives him a faintly incredulous look, as if doubting his commitment.

Really, he thought they knew each other. He tightens his fingers significantly, watches sternly as Q falls back against the arm of the couch with a sound that is half-pleasure and half-pain, "I _mean_ it, Q."

"...Your wish, my - ah! - Capitaine," Q murmurs eventually, voice so ragged and shaky that it barely has any resemblance to his usual overconfident purr, "is my command."

He supposes that'll have to be good enough.

He loosens the tightness of his grip just slightly, but keeps a firm hold. Massages his hand over the bulge in Q's trousers, feeling the length of him through the fabric. He doesn't allow himself to be much impressed, tries his very hardest to keep in mind that this isn't the _real_ Q. It's just a front, a suit put on by a mischievous imp whose only goal is to torture him to the point of insanity.

It's somewhat hard to remember, with Q already giving such desperate whimpers underneath him, but he's been trained to face impossible situations without blinking. He retains his grip, likes to think that he even remains somewhat detached while doing so.

He massages Q over his clothes for a few minutes, watching the desperation of his reactions closely, but in the end decides that _mercy_ is just as much of a positive trait in humanity as passion. He slips his hand up, so slowly that Q barely seems to notice what he's doing, and carefully undoes the fastenings of the man’s trousers - draws them slowly down his hips, to expose what lies underneath. Nothing, of course, for Q is eternally Q and being an exhibitionist lies deep within his nature.

The touch of air to his nudity seems to, if anything, only excite Q more. He makes a desperate groaning noise, a sound infinitely deeper and more serious than his little whimpers, and bucks up. Attempts to grab his head, and drag him down for a kiss so passionate that he honestly wonders _if_ Q is truly as ignorant of the passions of humanity as he claims.

He allows the kiss for a long few moments, lies to himself that he's only analysing the rough passion of it, and then forces himself to draw back. Reaches down, before Q can give more than the slightest grunt of protest, and wraps his hand around the man's cock. It's long, but that's only a front. It's thick, but that's only a front. It's warm and throbbing in his hand, the kind of organ that really _deserves_ to be crushed up between two stomachs or down into a soft bed... But that is only a front, and he _remembers_ that.

Q lets out a long whine, at the very first circle of his fingers, and collapses bonelessly against the couch again. He's never imagined what Q would be like in bed, another white lie that he can't quite bring himself to mind at the moment, but this lack of control is gratifying in the _extreme_. Q only whines again, when he takes a slightly tighter grip. Actually throws his head back and lets out a whole series of them, when he starts stroking in earnest. 

He doesn't allow himself to be flattered, much, instead only focuses on the slow stroking. He hasn't done this to another man in a while, but it's easy enough to get back into the habit of. He pumps his hand up and down slowly and thoroughly, trying to hit every single nerve ending along the way. He keeps his speed deliberate, careful. Every time he gets back to the head of Q's cock, he takes mercy and swipes his thumb across it in a motion that he prefers to see as a treat rather than a tease.

The sounds that Q are making grow louder and longer every time he does that, to the point where they become more screams than whines. He's not quite thrashing around on the couch, but he is trembling so hard that it's a miracle he doesn't tumble off it. He's shaking like he's just run a marathon, his exposed skin has gone bright red and his eyes have gone so dark that he can barely see the colour in them.

He worries, for half a second, about the rest of his command staff bursting in from the bridge to find them in this compromising position. But quickly decides that there are more important matters, and that those are the things to be most firmly focused upon. At Q's pretty encouragement he carefully braces his free arm between the edge of the couch and the man's shaking hips, speeds up the strokes of the hand already wrapped around the man's cock. His hand is already starting to hurt, his back may well kill him in the morning and he's pretty sure that he'll require a new couch to replace the one that Q has wrecked with his enthusiasm.

It doesn't matter, not at all. Q is actively screaming now, a crescendo of noise that is far more gratifying than it is terrifying. His hips buck so hard that his firmly planted arm barely manages to keep them in, his eyes are blown wide and dark, his body is shaking so hard that he half fears that the man is just going to shudder apart into atoms without even a word of acknowledgement and-

He draws back a little. Mindful, even through the haze of lust, of the ruining of his uniform.

 _And_ -

Q bucks off the couch so hard that he seems to levitate when he comes, and flops down so heavily that the poor thing actually lets out a creaking noise of protest at his weight. White come splatters up the front of his uniform, and across his legs, but miraculously fails to get anywhere else. The ship is suddenly quiet around them, the sound of Q's screams fading into a softly satisfied sigh.

He's suddenly intimately, and uncomfortably, aware of the hardness between his own legs. And the fact that he may well just have broken his couch, and given his command staff an earful of an orgasmic Q, and had _sex_ with that orgasmic Q. He clears his throat awkwardly, moves his slightly dirtied hand away and tries his very hardest not to think about what's going to happen now, "Q-"

"Mon Capitaine," Q answers, tone back to a lazily satisfied purr, and sits up suddenly. The smile on his face, he's slightly ashamed to admit, is distracting at _best_ , "due to my deep respect for you, and the _relationship_ -"

He makes a face, can't quite help himself.

"-That now exists between us, I find myself forced into the unenviable position of having to make a confession," Q only smirks at him in return. Reaches out to drag his hand, the one still covered in come, right up to his lips in a filthy parody of a romantic gesture, "I may well have used just a few of my powers, to make our little sojourn go just a tiny bit easier."

He opens his mouth, too aroused to be properly angry. Immediately has to suck in a shaky breath of his own, as Q's tongue flickers out to clear his own come off his knuckles, " _Q_."

"No worries, My dear Jean-Luc, nobody heard a _thing_ ," Q purrs, speaking over him while the breath is still caught in his throat, and reaches for the fastenings of his uniform. Undoes them slowly, long fingers caressing over his throat as they stare at each other from up close, "just as nobody will hear a thing of what I'm about to do to _you_."

...Well, he supposes that he's participated in _worse_ practical demonstrations.


End file.
